Never Falter
by Idiot-The-Great
Summary: Heroes never faltered under the weight of their problems. Even with a heavy heart, they carried on with a smile; never giving up, never failing, and never breaking. USUK angst. Oneshot ?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello again. I'm back with another ansty oneshot! Many thanks to my beta Kei Lawliet and to all those who have reviewed or favourited my stories! This one's for you guys. **

**Warnings: Angst, maybe a tab bit OOC, USUK**

* * *

Two nations stood in strained silence, staring at each other and standing in the entryway of an old English house. There were no noises but the creaking of the house in the wind.

Alfred broke the silence by clearing his throat and sliding on his jacket. He smiled softly at Arthur, who scoffed in response.

"I hate you. You know that, don't you, git?"

Blue eyes blinked before lips slowly spread into a strained grin. A short, self-depreciating chuckle escaped as Alfred murmured a weary, "I know, ya' tell me every day, Artie."

Arthur shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking to the ground instead of Alfred.

"Good. Yes. Of course," he said with a terse nod.

Alfred worried his bottom lip between his teeth as he stared at Arthur, watching him wring his hands as dull (they always used to look so _bright_!) emerald eyes wandered aimlessly about the room. Something about the slump of Arthur's shoulders and the timid tone of his voice concerned Alfred.

"Arthur, are you okay?"

Arthur's head snapped up at the question, his gaze taking in the other's concerned face. His chest tightened in guilt and… something else.

Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, Arthur looked away again, "I'm f-fine, you git! What are you still doing here?" He sputtered, the guilt churning in his stomach and making him nauseous.

With a delayed soft smile, Alfred winked. "I guess I'll head out, then. Ya' know the Hero's always here if ya' ever need to talk!"

Arthur scoffed, staring at the "50" on Alfred's retreating back.

"Good riddance, you arrogant prat."

_Please don't leave._

"Why don't you come prepared for the next meeting, eh?"

_I didn't mean any of it._

"The other countries already think you're an idiot, you know,"

_I think you're amazing._

"Or do you just not care?"

_Don't ever change._

Alfred paused at the door, his hand resting in the empty doorframe. He turned back with a smile.

"You know me, Artie! Not a chance."

Arthur couldn't help but smirk, and Alfred responded with a cheesy (fake, Arthur noted) grin as he turned on his heel and left the house.

The door clicked shut, and only then did Arthur sink to the floor.

"Yes, Alfred, I do know you. But not well enough."

_I love you._

_

* * *

_

Alfred slammed his front door shut as soon as he walked in, and threw his leather bomber jacket unceremoniously in a corner.

His chest heaved with each rapid breath he took and his legs trembled as he held himself upright. Alfred wondered if running all the way from the airport was a smart idea, after all.

Shuffling into the adjacent living room, Alfred dropped onto a dark, leather couch. The room was dark, and the moonlight streaming though window blinds cast eerie shadows on the walls. Carpeted floors were littered with magazines, soda bottles and food wrappers.

A clock ticked loudly on the wall, and Alfred watched the second hand move on its path with a frown. He was tired. So very tired.

He was tired of being insulted again and again.

He was tired of leaving with Arthur hiding things from him.

He was tired of trying to gain Arthur's affection, only to have his heart broken.

Before Alfred knew where he was going, he was on his feet and going down the stairs two at a time.

The musky smell of dust and earth greeted Alfred as he stood in the storage room. Boxes were stacked against the walls, and piles of old souvenirs sat, forgotten, in corners.

Alfred moved over to a certain stack of boxes, and rummaged through its contents until he found what he was unconsciously searching for.

There. It was an old black and white picture of himself with Arthur next to him, both smiling at the camera. Back when he was a colony, and Arthur was happy.

A tear left a clear streak on the dirty frame, and only then did Alfred realize he was crying. It was a hopeless cause; he'd never get Arthur to smile like that again.

Alfred threw the picture as hard as he could, the frame shattering as it hit the opposite wall. Blue eyes widened, and Alfred stifled a sob upon realizing what he had done, but his gaze landed on an old tea set he had been given so long ago…

Grabbing onto the tray that held it, Alfred hurled the tea set, flinching at the harsh clattering of breaking porcelain.

Box after box Alfred threw, the crashing and commotion distracting him from his thoughts; _this is hopeless. I can't do it. He hates me. I've ruined everything._

Memory after memory flew from his hands, breaking into tiny pieces, and he longed to forget everything that had ever gone wrong, to forget anything that had to do with _him_… because it was just too painful.

After an hour, Alfred stood in what remained of his storage room. Boxes had toppled to the ground, and glass crunched under Alfred's boots as he made his way to the first picture he had thrown.

His face was calm, expressionless, as he crouched down and slid the picture out from underneath broken glass. Staring at those smiling faces, Alfred felt the corners of his lips twitch into a small grin. Looking around the room, Alfred shook his head.

_This isn't me._ He thought, standing up.

_I'm a hero. And heroes never falter under the weight of their problems. Even with a heavy heart, they carried on with a smile; never giving up, never failing, and never breaking._

Sighing, Alfred smiled to himself. He grabbed a broom from the corner of the room and ran a hand through his hair.

He had a lot of cleaning up to do.

* * *

**Reviews would make me very happy. I'm considering writing a second part as a conclusion - yes or no?**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Hey guys, long time no see! So, because I got so many requests, I wrote a conclusion for ya'll. I guess you'll have to see how it ends. (:

**Warnings:** Angst and fluff

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Hetalia or any of it's characters.

* * *

Arthur sat on his hardwood floor, staring at the door ten minutes after Alfred had left through it.

_I should have told him… this has been going on for far too long…_ He thought, hanging his head, _but I can't. He'd loathe me. _

His head snapped up when the doorbell rang, and his heart leapt into his throat. Was Alfred back so soon?

He scrambled to the door, smoothing down his clothes before swinging it open. Arthur was sadly disappointed by the Frenchman that stood on his step instead.

"Arthur, mon cher! Ca va?" Francis cooed, grinning as he strode past Arthur into the entryway.

Arthur scoffed and shut the door, turning away from his guest with a frown.

"What do you want, frog? I'm not in the mood to play your games."

Arthur marched into the kitchen without waiting for an answer, Francis trailing behind him.

"Tea?" He asked, automatically getting two cups from the cupboard. "Ah, oui, mon ami! Mais-"

"English, frog," Arthur growled, putting the kettle on.

"But of course, Angleterre," Francis said with a sly smile. Arthur shot him a pointed look, and Francis' smile faded seeing Arthur's slightly red and blotchy face.

"Arthur, is everything alright? Have you been… crying?"

Arthur tensed, but otherwise remained composed.

"What are you talking about?" He mumbled, turning to pull out tea bags.

Francis sighed and stepped closer, putting a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "It's Amerique, non?"

Arthur froze.

With another sigh, Francis turned his friend to face him, "You just need to tell him, Angleterre! What is it that stops you?"

Arthur stared, wide eyed, up at Francis before shaking his head. He tried to swat away the hands holding him, but Francis held firm.

"Mon dieu, he feels the same way! What do you have to worry about?"

Arthur glared back. "Don't be ridiculous," he snapped.

"I speak no lies, Arthur. It's not just me that says so! The sexual tension is so thick; I daresay it could be cut with a butter knife!"

"Tension, certainly," Arthur muttered, "But not what you're implying."

Francis scoffed. "No, it is definitely sexual tension. It could be nothing else! He holds no grudges against you."

"But that's just it!" Arthur shouted, backing away from Francis, "he does! Our… relationship is so strained because he still doesn't forgive me! If I said anything… he'd hate me. It'd break any bond I've managed to form and-and the rejection… it would ruin me!"

Arthur's voice broke as tears began to form in his eyes. He leaned heavily on the counter, looking pointedly at the floor.

Francis gave his friend a sympathetic smile, shaking his head.

"It's not him that hasn't forgiven; it's you who hasn't _forgotten._ He is ready to move on from the past. Alfred has already forgiven you, Arthur… you just haven't been paying attention. Perhaps it is _you_ that needs to read the atmosphere?"

Arthur looked up with watery green eyes, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

Francis smiled again, "I'm completely certain of all this, mon cher," he said softly, "now go see him."

* * *

Alfred frowned at the mess he had yet to clean as he swept up the rubble.

Boxes were stacked precariously to clear the floor, and several towers had already fallen over, creating a bigger mess.

Alfred sighed. _I need a better cleaning strategy, _he thought, running a sticky hand through his hair.

The doorbell rang, and Alfred jumped, dropping his broom and causing another tower to topple.

"Damn it…" he cursed, puffing his cheeks in a pout. The doorbell rang again, and Alfred ran upstairs, leaving the door slightly ajar, grumbling to himself all the while.

He was quite surprised to find Arthur, hunched over and panting for breath, on his doorstep.

"Uhhm… Artie?"

Arthur held up a finger, silently asking for a moment. Alfred snickered, but obliged, opening the door wider to allow him inside.

"How 'bout you come in? I'll getcha' a glass of water of something," he said, already heading to the kitchen.

Alfred filled a glass to the rim with cool tap water, and turned as Arthur walked in.

"Here," Alfred said, holding out the glass. Arthur reached to take it, but stopped short, his jaw dropping.

"A-Alfred, you look bloody awful!"

Alfred frowned. "Gee, thanks, Arthur," he mumbled, thrusting the glass into Arthur's hands.

Arthur scrambled to put the cup down, and rushed after Alfred, who had retreated to the adjacent room in a huff.

"Not like that, you git! Have you looked in the mirror? You're… bleeding everywhere? What the bloody hell did you get yourself into? Did you trip or… something?" Arthur's eyes were wide with concern, but Alfred brushed it off as nothing more than surprise. Arthur hated him, he didn't care.

Alfred discovered he was, in fact, bleeding, as he checked himself over. The glass and porcelain he had been breaking must have cut him without him noticing.

"Yeah, I musta' tripped or something," Alfred repeated absently, his fingers brushing against a bloody clump of hair he had made when running his hands through it in frustration.

"Must have? You don't remember, Alfred?" Arthur's eyebrows were furrowed and his lips downturned, but his green eyes shone with alarm and suspicion.

"Huh?" Alfred's attention came back to Arthur, who raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms.

"Alfred, what aren't you telling me?"

Alfred hesitated, then laughed – a little too loudly, Arthur noted.

"Nothing, Artie, nothing at all! How 'bout you? Why're you here? I was just at your house."

At this, Arthur flushed a deep red, "O-oh. There's simply something I'd like to discuss with you, Alfred," he mumbled, looking away.

Alfred quirked an eyebrow. "That so…? Hmm, sounds boring, hold on."

Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but Alfred had walked to the bathroom, turning the faucet on full blast. He made to sit on one of the plush couches, but he jumped up when a loud crash came from the basement.

"Alfred, was that you…?" Arthur asked, inching towards the door to the basement.

"Was what me?" Alfred replied several moments later, emerging from the bathroom, the blood mostly cleaned off.

"That crash! I think it came from downstairs, but…" Arthur slowly shifted his gaze from the door to Alfred.

Alfred's lips twitched into a frown for a second before he laughed – again, too loudly.

"Oh, who knows? It don't matter! What did you wanna' talk about, Artie?" Alfred shifted his weight from foot to foot, glancing down the stairs next to him then back to Arthur with a nervous grin.

Another crash sounded from the basement, and Alfred visibly flinched as Arthur strode past him to the stairs.

"Arthur, wait!" Alfred cried, bolting after him. Alfred reached out just as Arthur came to the door, but Arthur barreled through, stopping only a few feet inside.

Alfred sighed and shuffled in next to Arthur, eyes downcast, his feet brushing aside the rubble that still littered the floor; broken picture frames and old porcelain tea sets among the mess.

There were several moments of thick silence, Alfred seeing Arthur tense from the corner of his eye.

"Alfred… what is this?" Arthur asked, his voice even and coldly indifferent.

Alfred bit his lip, fidgeting under the stern gaze he felt burning into his skull.

"Alfred," Arthur called again. Alfred looked into that stare, his heart leaping into his throat as a wave of nostalgia hit him.

For a second, he felt like a child again – when he didn't have the weight of the world on his shoulders, when things were happy… when he still had Arthur's love, he realizes as he looked back – but only for a second. Reality hit: everything was _very _different now – he _was _carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Arthur's heart was no longer his.

Through Arthur's indifference, there was concern in his eyes, and Alfred couldn't bear to look. Arthur would be disgusted if he knew the truth, and any reluctant kindness he received from the man would be gone.

Alfred shrugged and looked down at his toes, "Nothing, I'm just… cleaning up," He tried plastering on a smile, and Arthur's frown deepened.

"Really? Seems to me that you were making more of a mess."

Arthur moved around the room, and, picking up a shard of a familiar tea set, looked back at Alfred with an eyebrow raised. Alfred saw the hurt and confusion reflected in those emerald depths, and looked away with a shake of his head.

Arthur frowned at Alfred, who had wrapped his arms around himself in obvious discomfort. Arthur swallowed, asking the question he had never dared ask, "Alfred… do you hate me?"

Alfred's head snapped up, and he stared wide-eyed at Arthur, whose face was composed with careful indifference.

"You think that's why I did this? Because I hate you?"

Arthur scoffed. "I have yet to come to another logical solution," Arthur snapped, his tone daring Alfred to contradict him.

"It's the complete opposite, I…"

Arthur stared back blankly.

Alfred shook his head, "You don't get it. You never understand why I do the things I do! I thought if anyone could see it, it would be you…" Alfred's voice cracked, his blue eyes rimmed with tears. He bit his lip and looked away.

Arthur's gaze softened, and he felt his bitterness leaving him, replaced by confusion. Damn those beautiful blue eyes. He still couldn't stand to see Alfred cry.

"What is it you don't think I understand, Alfred?" Arthur asked, stepping closer to him, "Because I notice more than you think."

Alfred glanced up momentarily when he felt Arthur lay his hands on his arms, thumbs rubbing soothing circles, wishing he could just pull the man into his arms, but knowing he couldn't.

Arthur took a deep breath and continued, "First, I've noticed half of your smiles are faked for the sake of others, and you're not always happy. Next, you're not as dumb as you make yourself out to be – for some reason you pretend to be completely daft," Arthur paused at Alfred's lack of response.

It was time to get his attention.

"I've noticed that… you aren't invincible, but you carry on like there's not a care in the world because you're a 'hero.' You keep your problems to yourself, always hiding behind jokes and laughter. You're always putting others first, no matter what you're going through, and you're always trying _so hard_ to be the best you can be. You've done so much for all of us, whether we'd like to admit it or not, a-and you still get shit for your mistakes! You take it all in stride, pretending it doesn't get to you but it does! You're hurt, but you don't say anything… not even to the people that love you most."

Arthur swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, staring into watery eyes bluer than the sky.

They were so close.

Then Alfred backed away, his eyes hardening into cold cobalt.

"You're right. I'm not invincible, and I do get hurt, but do you know what hurts me most? You. You hate me, you said so yourself. So stop lying to me, Arthur."

Arthur felt his jaw drop, and tears sting his eyes, "No, Alfred, it's not like that, I-"

"You what?" Alfred interrupted, "You care? Bullshit."

Arthur blinked rapidly, backing away as Alfred stalked closer.

"You know it hurts me, but you still say it. You still tell me you hate me. But you know what, Arthur? I'm glad you're at least being honest with me. You know why I did this? Because I can't stand to be reminded of you and how much you hate me. I can't stand knowing that we'll never be happy again, because I fucked everything up. I can't stand thinking about how much I love you, and how wrong and disgusting you'll think that is. You're driving me insane, Arthur. These things gave me hope of something that I know will never be possible every time I looked at them, so I destroyed them. Every last memory and every last bit of hope."

Arthur was backed against a wall, Alfred inches in front of him, intense cobalt eyes locked onto emerald. Warm, quick breaths ghosted over Arthur's cheeks, and he shuddered, his heart aching to just reach out…

Alfred's eyes suddenly lost their vigor, and he backed away with his head hung and shoulders slumped.

"Are you satisfied, Arthur?" he whispered hoarsely, not daring to look up.

"I am," Arthur replied quietly, stepping closer.

Alfred raised his head, and warm lips were suddenly pressed against his. Alfred stiffened in shock, but Arthur only moved closer, wrapping an arm around Alfred's waist and a hand coming up to tangle in the blond hair at the base of his skull, his lips coaxing Alfred's into responding.

Alfred shuddered, his mind reeling. Hesitantly, his arms wound around Arthur's trim waist, and he sighed in bliss as he pushed back against Arthur's lips. Arthur pulled him closer, his tongue flicking out to probe at Alfred's bottom lip.

Arthur's back met the cool wall, and Alfred's tongue slipped past his lips, both men sighing when their tongues met.

"I love you, Alfred," Arthur gasped as they pulled away for air.

Alfred's lips were on his again, and he shivered, his hands moving to Alfred's face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones.

"I love you so much," Arthur mumbled again when Alfred's lips trailed along his jaw to the spot just behind his ear.

Alfred pulled away a few inches until he came into Arthur's view with a small smile and a murmured, "I love you, too."

A genuine smile.

Arthur felt himself smiling back as he saw what was brimming in Alfred's eyes, something that Alfred had lost so long ago.

Hope.


End file.
